Searching for prey by the beat of our hearts
by rainicorn
Summary: In which Draco contemplates where his loyalties lie. I just got back into fanfiction, so I'm a little rusty. I'll probably write a series of ficlets based on this. Sorry for any errors! P.S. I know Luna's patronus is a hare. I did it on purpose. ;


It had been nearly a week since Luna left; "left" being a poor choice in words, he thought with a slight pang of bitterness. "As if she would ever be here by will in the first place."

He marched through the foyer grumpily, straight past the concerned looks from his mother and the daggers that his dear aunt Bellatrix was throwing him. It was no secret that she blamed him for the fiasco that had happened the previous week. Had she simply felt that, had he acted quicker, Potter would have been captured or had she sensed what was _really_ going on—what he thought he successfully had kept a secret for nearly one third of the year? He wasn't sure. It didn't really matter to him at the moment, though, nor did much else. He certainly wasn't concerned with where that great git was now, unlike everyone else in this damn house.

_Saint_ _Potter._ Stupid, _perfect_ Potter, always trying to help everyone and somehow always the main source of all Draco's problems. He took her from him. As if his dignity, family, and pride somehow weren't enough, or even the fact that he was now seemingly more isolated than the undesirable, himself, he had to go and take the one last source of happiness that Draco had –had to barricade the light at the end of this long tunnel that Draco has been trapped in since he was born.

The hours following the trio's grand escape were, hands down, some of the worst in his life. It wasn't the endless punishment that his family had since been receiving; no, he was far too used to the cruciatus curse by now. It was more so the agony that seemed to tear him apart as he sat alone in his room, the dining hall, _anywhere_ -but _always_ alone. There were bruises on the palms of his hands and his knuckles seemed to be painted permanently white from making fists all the time. He would get revenge.

It was times like these when he would walk down to the cellar. Now that it was empty, it was safe to keep the lights on, but somehow it seemed darker than it had in the first place.

Looking at the vacant corner that was once occupied by _her_, a wave of guilt suddenly washed over him. It was another one of those moments where he couldn't help but feel undying devotion and admiration toward her. She, Luna, who had never once complained about her situation but, quite the contrary, did her best to comfort her captor, had finally made it out of this hellhole and here he was, like always, feeling sorry for _himself_ rather than thankful on her behalf. And yet, he still couldn't help but long for the whole day of her escape to be erased completely. Granted, he _did_ play a small role in helping Potter, but things turned out far different than he had hoped.

Draco was no idiot. He knew that if Potter was captured at the manor, Luna would be deemed useless and left to the mercy of Bellatrix. Though the Dark Lord disliked the shedding of magical blood, his aunt certainly had no problem with it; mudbloods, muggles, blood-traitors –they're all the same to her. He couldn't have that, couldn't have _anyone_ lay a single finger on her; so, he had to stall them as long as he could. He knew that mudblood Granger _must_ have something up her sleeve, and as long as the Dark Lord wasn't called right away, they would surely escape. He hadn't anticipated that they'd take her with them at the time, though looking back now it seemed pretty obvious that they would. At the time, he just wanted them to be on their way so that he could go to his room and await the little hand on his clock to reach twelve so that he could go and see Luna. He figured it would be a bit different now, with the male mudblood occupying the cellar now too, but he could brush him off just as he had done with Ollivander so many times before. She _was_ the only one that matter to him, after all. So, needless to say, it came as a bit of a shock when he volunteered to go and check on the prisoners only to find the room completely empty.

Coming back to present day reality, he sunk to the cold, stone floor. Somehow, this wave of guilt only served to make him angrier -angry at himself, yes, but still very angry indeed. He pulled out his mother's wand and twirled it in his hands. "Funny", he thought. Until this moment, he had completely forgotten that Potter had taken his wand, as well. Rationally thinking, he hadn't much use for a wand these days anyway, but it allowed him to transfer all his anguish from the loss of Luna to the much more acceptable loss of his wand. Trying not the get over-steamed, he raised the wand and closed his eyes, attempting to clear his mind.

Many of the nights he spent with Luna, in this very same spot, she would teach him, or attempt to, spells that he'd never heard of before. One of them was a charm most commonly known as a patronus, and though he had little success himself, their lessons would usually end in him giving Luna his wand and marveling at hers. (Though he did not admit this even to himself, the memory of her producing spells with his wand made him long for the instrument even more.) He needed the comfort more than ever now, though, so he concentrated on thinking of a happy memory harder than he ever had before. He thought of his days before Luna, but also before any of this death eater mess –the first time he rode a broom, late nights with Pansy that meant a bit more to him than he ever led on; yet, no matter what he thought of, his thoughts would always come back to _her_: Loony Luna Lovegood, with her _stupid_ made-up creatures, silly hats, and that vacant look she always wore –in short, all the things that he cherished most about her, and then several things happened at once: He thought of Luna smiling at him, despite her current predicament, and a weird feeling spread through his body. It made him feel warm and anxious, but was not altogether undesirable. This was the moment; it was time.

As if he was under the imperius curse, he whispered "expecto patronum" without really registering that he did so, and with a flick of his mother's wand, out came a rush of swirling blue mist. It flowed like crashing waves from the tip and only lingered for mere moments before taking the form of a small rabbit. The glow from the creature was so bright that it masked the flame of the candles and turned the whole room a marvelous blue. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.

Draco simply sat there, awestruck, for several minutes. The rabbit seemed to take all the happiness in the room back with it, along with it's glorious blue light. He longed for it to come back, and hastily tried to repeat his actions. His voice cracking when the spoke the incantation and when not so much as a flicker of light came from it, he angrily threw the wand and buried his head in his hands. For once, he didn't care whether his family heard his sobs or not. He needed the rabbit; he needed _her._

He wasn't sure how long he stayed on the cold, cellar floor, but when he finally got up his dull eyes were red and puffy and his face was still wet with tears. As each of them dried into his skin, he seemed to absorb them like fuel toward his growing anger, and as he exited, shutting the door behind him, he made a rash decision in his mind: "I _must_ find Potter. I _must_ stop the war. I _have_ to save Luna. She needs _me._"


End file.
